The Warlock's Tear
by writerfan2013
Summary: A sorcerer has cast a love spell on Arthur. It is very inconvenient. Merlin tries in secret to remove it but can't, and everyone is unhappy. Or is something else going on? Slightly silly merthur. Some angst. Lots of misunderstanding. And of course romance. Let me know what you think! -And thanks for 10000 views, I've only just seen how many! -Sef
1. Chapter 1

The curse was only meant to last long enough to break the proposed alliance between Camelot's King and the visiting princess of Faris. The sorcerer of Faris, seeking the beautiful princess for himself, lay a spell on Arthur to ensure that he would reject the princess. Being of a humorous inclination, the sorcerer sent Arthur into a desperate love with his servant, the peasant-born Merlin.

Of course Merlin found it all out. Arthur, enraged, ended the alliance and banished the princess and her would be lover. Merlin discovered the cure for the sorcerer's love spell, a soup made from a plant found in a distant valley.

Hanging back beside the door in Arthur's chambers, Merlin outlined his plan to ride and fetch the plant. He watched Arthur's expression, ready to dodge into the corridor at every moment. The King had been extremely tetchy under the influence of the love spell, and Merlin did not need anything thrown at his head. "The plant is called Warlock's Tear. It's very rare and only grows in one place in all the kingdom. If the enchanted person drinks a soup made from the plant, it will undo any magic."

"Right," said Arthur. He sat at his desk, surrounded by unread state papers. An untouched plate of chicken lay among the debris. "Magic herb. Soup. Cured. Right."

"I'll set off immediately, sire." Merlin inclined his head in courteous farewell.

"What? No, I'm coming with you."

Merlin flinched. "There is no need-"

Arthur smacked his hand on his desk. "Dammit, yes there is! I'm not waiting here for you to plod back like a cow in a daisy field. I need a cure as soon as it can possibly be found. I keep _gazing_ at you and frankly it's putting me off my dinner. I'm coming with you. That's an order."

"Yes sire." Merlin suppressed a sigh. An enamoured king ought to have meant that Arthur treated him a little better, but no, the spell seemed to have sent Arthur into a frenzy of irritation with the object of his affection.

"Oh, don't give me that." Arthur waved his hands.

"What?"

"Puppy dog face."

"This is just my normal face."

"Argh!"

"It will be all right, Arthur," said Merlin. "We'll break the spell." Secretly he had already been trying. But the sorcerer's work was hard to crack. "The soup will work. And I'll be fast. There really is no need for you to come too."

"Oh really? This soup. It's most effective when eaten fresh, yes?"

"...Yes."

"Then it's best if I am there on the spot when you make it. So I'm coming with you. And also..." Arthur groaned. "I want to." He clutched his head. "Or I would...miss you."

"I'm sorry," said Merlin softly.

Arthur closed his eyes in despair. "Just go. I'll meet you in the courtyard. -No. Wait. Stay."

Merlin stopped in the doorway, one foot in the royal chambers, one in the chilly corridor. He could feel Arthur's longing on the back of his neck, like the touch of a petal falling from a rose.

"No, go," said Arthur, and Merlin had never heard him so miserable.


	2. Chapter 2

"It looks frankly disgusting."

Arthur crouched beside Merlin. Merlin stirred an iron pot suspended over their campfire, a pot in which lumpy green liquid burst into big, slow bubbles. Every so often a belch emerged as the pot released a really hefty one.

Merlin sprinkled a handful of fresh spearmint into the mix and stirred some more. He tried to ignore Arthur,  
fidgeting close beside him, and poured a little soup into Arthur's wooden bowl. "Drink it."

"It smells foul."

"Drink it."

"How do we even know it's not poisonous? It could kill me."

"Just drink it!" Merlin proffered the soup bowl.

Arthur heaved a sigh. "Thank you," he said. "It's... typical of you to try to help me." He stopped speaking, looking appalled at what he just said. "And to help me in a way which is repulsive," he added.

Merlin closed his eyes. "I don't know why nobody's been able to undo the spell," he said through clenched teeth. "But here is the soup made from the leaf of the Warlock's Tear plant so just drink it."

Arthur pushed away the bowl. "No."

Merlin opened his eyes.

"I don't want to," said Arthur.

"What?"

"Not until I know why you're so keen to have me out of love with you. What's the matter Is it me? Don't you love me back?"

"Goat's knackers!" cried Merlin, who rarely swore.. "Am I going to have to tie you up and feed this to you? Because I will."

"Yes please," said Arthur and winked.

Merlin winced. To see the handsome young king so altered was shocking and sad. And it was painful, too, for reasons Merlin could not say. He drew a breath, and spoke slowly. "Arthur. You're not yourself. Drink the soup."

Arthur sighed, and took the bowl from Merlin's trembling hands, and drank.


	3. Chapter 3

"Don't throw up," said Merlin.

Arthur crouched in the leaf strewn ground. Around them, evening birds trilled a wavering song. The forest thrummed with nature's magic. Arthur retched.

"It's all right," Merlin said. He gripped Arthur's shoulder. "It's just the enchantment leaving you."

"How would you know?"

"Trust me. I am actually a physician, you know." And a sorcerer, but Merlin could not mention that.

He shut his eyes and sent his mind out into the forest. The spell was woven tight around Arthur, its bonds affecting all that the King saw, heard, touched or tasted. And the magical plant was loosening those bonds.

Merlin swallowed. The old Arthur would shortly be back. The pain, this new pain, would soon be over. Only the old hurt would remain. That was all right. Merlin was used to that. Life would be as before.

Except that it could never be quite that, because now he would always have the memory of Arthur saying, God, Merlin, your _eyes,_ as Merlin stood by the window one morning enjoying the spring sunshine. Or Arthur sprawled, sleepy, in the royal bed, giving Merlin an affectionate smile as Merlin drew back the curtain. Then Arthur scowling as he remembered that he was under a spell, but Merlin did not dwell on that. He tried not to dwell on any of it.

Arthur did not heave. He clenched his eyes and fists and retched, shaking, but the soup stayed down.

Merlin felt the enchantment unwind. "That's it," he said. "It's working."

"Ha."

Merlin handed the King a water skin. "Have this. You'll feel better. Magic sometimes takes a while to wear off completely. But now," he added, ignoring his heart, "things should be fine again."

Arthur drank, wiped his mouth, and sat back on his heels. He blinked. "Here." He thrust the skin at Merlin, then got up and strode around.

"Better?" said Merlin, getting to his feet and following Arthur.

Arthur spun round. "No! I don't, I don't feel any different."

"What?"

"You heard me. It hasn't worked. You must have picked the wrong plant. God knows what you've had me drink."

Merlin frowned. "No, I'm sure..."

Arthur cut across him. "Oh what's the use? You still look like a young gazelle and I'm stuck longing for your idiotic company. Ugh." Arthur threw himself on the ground and poked the camp fire with a stick.

Merlin stared down at him, then turned and walked away.

Arthur cast around, but Merlin was gone, as completely as if he had simply vanished. No leaf stirred, no twig cracked. How did Merlin do that?

Arthur shoved the twig savagely into the fire. Merlin was clever, that was how. Clever, funny, not that bad with a sword, actually excellent with a horse, and also Merlin was kind, loyal to Arthur always, and rather tender hearted...

"Damn."

Arthur sprang up to search for his friend, but Merlin was already there, right behind him.

They stared at each other, Arthur anxious, hands on hips, Merlin biting his lip. "Sorry," said Arthur. "It's my fault. You're not the court physician. I should have asked Gaius."

"No, I -"

"You can't know the difference between all these plants."

"Actually-"

"It's my fault. My selfishness. I just wanted your company."

"It should have worked," said Merlin. "It should have." He had felt it work. He was certain. Nearly certain. It made no sense.

"I know. It's all right." Arthur rubbed Merlin's shoulder in apology, then snatched back his hand. "Sorry," he said as Merlin flinched.

"It's all right."

"It just, it hurts, you know. To love and know that the person you, you care for, finds you repugnant. You can't understand."

Merlin made a noise.

"Oh god," said Arthur, "this is ridiculous. Just cure me, Merlin. I can't stand this any more. I never thought love would be so painful and I'm sick of it, sick of feeling like this."

Merlin sighed. His eyes, Arthur saw, were a darker blue when he was sad. He had never noticed that before, the way the light changed with Merlin's moods, as if the sky itself reflected how Merlin felt. "Me too," said Merlin.


	4. Chapter 4

"Your love is sweeter than...sweeter than..."

Arthur sighed and smacked his hand on the desk. Outside his window the castle was just waking up. Cockerels crowed, and wagons brought fresh eggs and milk from the outlying villages, and Arthur had been awake for hours. "Sweeter than..."

"Honey," said Merlin, coming into the royal chamber with a bundle of fresh laundry. He saw Arthur, dressed and at work, and his eyebrows shot up.

Arthur leaned his elbows on the papers, covering them. "No, not honey. Something rare and wonderful. Something you possess once in a lifetime, if you're lucky. Any peasant can stir up a hive." He trapped the pen on the desk. "What could it be?"

Merlin paused, his arms full of Arthur's linen. "Sweeter than..." He cast about. "A syrup made from rose water..."

"Oh. Yes."

"...from the rose that flowers once in a thousand years," finished Merlin. He dumped the linen on the bed.

"Is that a real thing?"

"Yes." Merlin lounged against the bed post, his eyes dreamy. "If you travel to the far East, the earth is dry and the plants send their roots deep into the earth to find water. They barely have energy to survive. But once in a thousand years the roses bloom, and there is dancing, and feasting, and the air is drowsy with rose scent. And when it is over, the people make syrup of roses, and feed it to their lovers, and they are the first in twenty generations to taste it, and the last for another twenty generations."

He smiled. "The roses last flowered four hundred years ago. I think our chances of tasting the syrup are slim."

Arthur was goggling at him. "That's brilliant. Perfect and brilliant. How do you know that?"

Merlin shrugged. "I read books. You should try it. What are you talking about, anyway?"

"Nothing," said Arthur.

But as Merlin left, Arthur took up his pen again and began to write.

Xxxx

A tawny owl gave its hopeful twit, twit in the castle courtyard. A moment later, its mate gave the answering twoo.

Merlin drew the covers over Arthur, sprawled fully clothed and snoring on the bed. He'd keeled over right after the council meeting, and Merlin did not have the heart to wake him. Arthur had been pushing himself harder and harder in training, and Merlin felt responsible. Arthur was only doing it because it distracted him from loving Merlin.

Arthur would do anything rather than love Merlin.

Merlin's gaze fell on the stack of papers on Arthur's desk. They were probably not meant to be left out. Merlin gathered them up, to lock in Arthur's closet. And stopped dead.

 _Your eye distilled the sweetness of a thousand years_  
 _Into a single moment,_  
 _If you would but look at me with love..._

The paper rattled in Merlin's hand. Involuntary golden sparks burst into shapes of hawks and dragons in the chamber's dim air. And when Arthur looked for his poem in the morning, it was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

It was a risk. Creeping into Arthur's chamber before dawn, setting a spell, tiptoeing out - it was a big risk, because Arthur was a soldier and slept with one eye open, alert for danger.

On the other hand, Merlin was country-born. He grew up hunting rabbits and sparrows, trembling dormice and shy river pike. Stealth and silence were his long-time habits.

He knelt on the floor beside Arthur's bed. The dish of hearts-ease pansies had to lie directly under the afflicted person, and their gentle magic would work while Arthur slept. The sorcerer's love spell was obviously strong in Arthur, but Merlin's magic was stronger than anyone's. This would cure Arthur, so long as Arthur didn't wake up.

Merlin shoved the dish under the bed. He whispered words of ancient enchantment, and golden sparks floated around the flowers. The blooms glowed, and Merlin edged away from the bed. He had done it. The sparks now drifting around the bedroom would disperse in a few minutes, and Merlin would sneak away. Few could match him for caution or quiet-

"What are you doing?" Arthur sat up, the bedclothes pooling around his waist. He rubbed his eyes and peered at Merlin. Arthur was bleary, no shirt, hair fluffed up, barely awake.

Merlin leapt back all the same. Arthur, even sleepy Arthur, could still wield a sword. "Nothing!" He pointed at the sky. "Sun's not even up, look."

Arthur did not move. Merlin had to rely on prayer that Arthur would not notice the last shimmering remnants of the spell. "You're acting suspiciously, Merlin," said Arthur.

"Sorry."

Arthur sighed and flung himself back on his pillows. He cast a look of longing at Merlin, then rubbed his hands through his hair in an atempt to hide it. "No! Good god."

"Sire?"

"You're sacked."

"What?"

"No. Forget it. I didn't say anything."

"Arthur?"

Arthur groaned. "It would just be easier not to have to look at you."

"I can go," Merlin said.

"No, stay. I've faced dragons, I'm pretty sure I can bear to see you and your pointy chin and big ears."

Merlin's gaze went hard and bright.

Arthur clenched his fists. "No," he said. "That's not right." His mouth moved as he struggled. At last he said, "I like your ears. And your chin." He glanced at Merlin to see if this had made things better or worse. But Merlin was still as a statue and it was impossible to tell.

There was an awkward silence. "I'll get breakfast," said Merlin.

"Right. Thanks."


	6. Chapter 6

The knights bustled around the evening camp, building fires, tending the horses. Lesser soldiers stood sentry duty around the edge, although in this peaceful forest clearing, guard duty was mostly a courtesy towards the King.

Arthur himself lounged on his cloak, eating an apple and watching the preparations. It was good to be in the forest again, even if no trouble was expected. He did not crave problems, but happening across some smugglers or slavers would be good. Give the men a worthy fight, some decent practice.

His glance fell on Merlin. Merlin wore his usual awful jacket, and was supposed to be cooking Arthur's supper. In fact he was reading a letter held in one hand, and stirring the pot in a way which suggested that supper would be lumpy.

He had a dreamy expression, which changed to a wary one as he noticed Arthur watching him.

"What's that?" said Arthur, gesturing at the letter.

Merlin stuffed the paper into his jacket. "Nothing. Page from a book. Might, might help break the spell."

Arthur held out his hand . "Well, give it here then."

"Supper's ready," said Merlin.

Arthur frowned. But Merlin was blinking stubbornly at him and there was no shifting Merlin once he made up his mind. So Arthur just took his bowl of stew, and the wooden spoon Merlin offered him, and settled close to the fire.

Merlin watched him eat.

"What about yours?" Arthur asked, through a mouthful of rabbit. It was indeed lumpy, but good.

"My what?" said Merlin.

"Supper."

"Everyone else has to eat first." Merlin was looking at Arthur as if he were mad.

Maybe he was. He had completely forgotten that in camp, Merlin was at the very bottom of the pecking order. "Right."

After the rabbit there was an apple from Merlin's pack, and a flask of summer wine. Arthur checked his gear while he munched, and saw Merlin scraping the plates. "Hey."

Merlin stopped.

"I'll do that," said Arthur. "Have your dinner."

Merlin gaped. "Sire?"

"I said I'll do it. You've been up since I don't know when. Eat." Arthur filled a bowl from the cooking pot and thrust it at Merlin. "Go on, man!"

Merlin took it. "The horses need watering as well," he said.

"Don't push your luck," said Arthur. Merlin smirked. But later, as Arthur was shaking water from the clean bowls and cups, he looked over at Merlin and caught him smiling while he ate, sweet and content. And for that, all the dirty dishes were worth it.


	7. Chapter 7

"If you loved me, I could forgive you anything," said Arthur.

"Mmn." Merlin kept his eyes on the shield he was polishing. The King had been in dreamy mood all morning, drifting about his chamber, signing state papers, receiving the knights' reports, watching Merlin work.

In all honesty, he did not mind the armour jobs. The better the shine, the better an attacker's blade glanced off. And there was something restful about smoothing away the tiny nicks and scratches of battle from this gleaming mould of Arthur's body.

Arthur paused, silhouetted against the window. He gazed at the spring sky instead of Merlin. "It's true. To see you look at me, just once, as if you cared... You could have anything you asked, do anything you want..."

"You said forgive," said Merlin.

"So?" Arthur swung round. Merlin was gazing narrowly at him. Arthur spread his hands.

Merlin said, "That's different from having anything I want. What have I done that needs forgiveness?"

"I don't know, Merlin. What have you done?"

"Don't mock me. Did you really mean that, that I could be forgiven anything?"

"Yes. Except that now I'm worried."

Merlin's eyes darted about. It did not diminish Arthur's concern, not one bit.

"Anyway, there was a condition attached," said Arthur. "It's only if you loved me, which obviously is a pointless hope. Forget it."

"Right," said Merlin.

He went back to buffing Arthur's shoulder guard. Arthur stared at him, disturbed, but also mesmerized by the skill and care in Merlin's work.

"Feel free to help," said Merlin without looking up, and Arthur jumped, and went to shuffle papers on his desk, and wonder.


	8. Chapter 8

The end had to come some time, and it was sheer bad luck that it had to be now, when he was so close to success. Merlin had the right herbs, the right phase of the moon, and had plied Arthur with the right amount of wine at dinner so that Arthur would be sound asleep in his tent, giving Merlin ample time to work the anti-love enchantment.

The knights were sleeping, or patrolling the camp. Arthur was spreadeagled on his cot, head flung back, covers half way to the ground.

Merlin's place in camp was on the floor beside the King's bed, so it was no trouble to crawl across and set up the spell, the spell which would end this strange time forever.

On Arthur's bedside table, the candle shrank on its plate, the flame wavering. Merlin hissed at it, and the flame steadied and cast the tent into a soft yellow glow. Arthur had not stirred. Everything was fine.

Everything was right, but the words of the spell were heavy in Merlin's mouth. He stumbled the first time, and had to begin again. He cast his hand over Arthur's sleeping face-

"What the hell are you doing?"

Arthur's grip was like iron on Merlin's arm. "Trying to cure you," said Merlin. He held up the bunch of herbs in explanation.

Arthur barely looked at it. "No you weren't. You were- You were casting a spell."

He struggled to sit up, his hand still on Merlin's forearm. Merlin's cheeks glinted in the candle light. Arthur peered at him.

"I have magic," said Merlin. He drew a deep breath, and let it out in four shuddering bursts. It seemed to calm him. "I have magic and I was using magic to try to... cure you."

Arthur let go of Merlin's arm very quickly. "Magic." He studied his friend's face. "Magic. Of course. That explains...So much ."

"I only use it to help you," Merlin said. "I promise. I would never use it against you, or Camelot, never-"

Arthur cut across him. "You're crying. Why are you crying?"

Merlin rubbed his sleeve over his face. "I'm not."

"Yes you were." Arthur frowned. "Why were you doing magic and crying?"

"Are you going to put me in the dungeon?" Merlin asked. "Lock me up, exile me... Execute me?"

"What? No." Arthur wrinkled his nose. "But I don't understand. Is the crying part of doing the magic?"

Merlin made a noise, half laugh, half sob. "Yes," he said. "Yes, it is."


	9. Chapter 9

"Yes!"

Arthur swallowed a big gulp of sweet wine, and shoved aside the empty dishes of his dinner.

He'd cracked it. After days of puzzling over Merlin's longstanding odd behaviour, his recent weeks of silence and secrecy, and now of course the actual magic and weeping - Arthur had worked it out.

Merlin was unhappy because he could not cure the King.

Merlin was a dedicated worker. Devoted to Arthur, in his own peculiar way. And even before the spell, Arthur knew that Merlin took failure, at any task, very personally.

As would Arthur himself. And Merlin had confessed to Arthur, that long night in camp, that he was a sorcerer of some power. It was a matter of shame, that Merlin was helpless in the face of Arthur's total, magical besottedness.

Arthur drummed his fingers on the stem of his goblet. He needed to make a decision before nightfall. The moon had come round again, or something, and when darkness fell, Merlin was going to try again, openly now, to cure Arthur.

There was only one thing for it. Arthur could not bear to see Merlin so unhappy. The magic thing would need to be sorted out, obviously... some kind of notional punishment... Or not, what did it matter, he'd always intended to legalise magic some day, and here was the perfect opportunity. No, the secret spell casting was simply unimportant. What mattered was his friend's misery. Love aside, it would not do. Arthur prided himself on his fairness and compassion, and to allow Merlin's unhappiness to continue - impossible.

It would be inconvenient, of course. It would be... painful. But it was better than to see Merlin suffer. And who knew, the love spell thing might wear off - eventually.

Yes. There was only one thing for it. For Merlin's sake, Arthur was going to pretend to be cured.

* * *

"It worked," said Arthur.

Merlin's warm hand, trembling with the effort of the spell, was still on Arthur's forehead. Arthur picked it off, ignoring the magical tingle that passed from Merlin's skin to his.

"What? No." Merlin reached towards Arthur.

"Yes. That's it," said Arthur, "it worked. Oh thank god." He sprang up and paced about. "Now I never have to look at your ugly mug and think soppy thoughts about how beautiful you are. I'm cured! I don't want to squander lazy afternoons with you or hold your hand or tussle with you in the long grass."

Merlin blinked. "I never knew you wanted to do those things."

"Well, I'm a fantastic actor. And anyway now I don't. I'm cured. Wonderful." Arthur clapped his hands. "Right. Now we can get back to work, and I think it's time I toured the kingdom, checked our defences. There's been trouble brewing on the border for a while."

Merlin hovered uncertainty around Arthur as he strode up and down. "Well. Congratulations."

"No, thank _you_ , Merlin. Whatever you did, it worked. Must have just taken a bit more time than you expected." Arthur laughed heartily. "Wrong as usual."

"Yes," said Merlin, but frowned. Where magic was concerned, he was rarely wrong.

"Well," said Arthur. "Excellent. Back to normal. We can just forget the whole thing."

He hesitated, then clapped Merlin on the shoulder, squeezed him for a moment. "Good work." He pulled his hand away, very quickly.

"Thank you, sire."

Merlin left, but he was worried. Because Arthur, the old Arthur, never hesitated. If he was going to bash Merlin on the back he just did it. If he was going to hug him even, he simply got on with it. He was naturally warm and open. It was one of the things Merlin loved about him, that ready ability to show what he felt.

So why, now that he was supposedly cured, was Arthur lying?


	10. Chapter 10

Arthur was being careful. Really careful. He'd kept up the banter, the insults, the casual violence. Now he thought about it, he had always been pretty rough with Merlin. He reined it in a bit. He'd never noticed how Merlin was actually hurt when Arthur hurled a boot at him, or clipped him over the ear. Bruised, but also hurt, because Arthur treated him like part of the furniture.

He didn't want to hurt Merlin.

And yet, despite these efforts, Merlin was not improving. If anything, he seemed even more unhappy since Arthur's apparent cure.

Some people were never satisfied, of course. Some people were only happy when they were racked with misery. But Merlin had never struck Arthur as one of those types.

Arthur could not think what to do about it. He acted as cured as he possibly could, treated Merlin a little more nicely than before, and still he would catch this look of of regret in Merlin's eyes, an infuriating look like an injured wolf who longed for his freedom.

The truly galling thing was that it ought to be Arthur who was miserable. And as it happened, he was, but mostly because Merlin was. It really was the most annoying double bind.

Apart from that though, it was business as usual. Arthur trained, and ran the Round Table, and led patrols around the perimeters of Camelot. Merlin accompanied him everywhere. Everywhere, Arthur realised. No matter where Arthur was, Merlin was beside him, standing silent, ready to help. Listening, in fact. And Arthur found that he wanted to know what Merlin thought.

Pretending, now, that he didn't care about Merlin's opinions, had made Arthur understand how much he valued them.

"Should we attack these insurgents at the border?" he asked Merlin in council one day, turning around to where Merlin stood behind his chair.

"No," said Merlin at once, though Arthur could have sworn Merlin spent most of his time staring into space, day dreaming. Evidently not.

"Why?" said Arthur.

"They expect that. They're waiting for an excuse to break the peace. We should send food to their people instead. But let them distribute it. They gain their citizens' goodwill, and owe us a favour too."

"They won't accept that," said Arthur, frowning.

"Try it," said Merlin, his eyes glittering very blue as sunlight from the high windows struck his face.

Arthur studied Merlin. His hair was ruffled from their training this morning, Merlin being the arrow catcher. There was a shade of stubble on his jaw. He'd not had time to shave. When did he ever? Arthur had no idea. After all, Merlin was already dressed, and shaved, by the time Arthur opened his eyes every day.

"All right," said Arthur. "Gather supplies. We'll bring food and medicine to the border and offer it freely."

Merlin smiled.

Pain and pride clutched Arthur's heart. He nodded at Merlin.

The meeting was over. "Do you need me for anything?" Merlin asked Arthur.

 _Everything_ , Arthur thought. _Come here right now and never leave my side._ He said, "Why would I need you?"

And straight away, there it was: Merlin's sorrow. He blinked, and ducked his head, casting his face into shadow. "Yes sire."

"I'm joking," said Arthur. "Obviously I need you."

Merlin looked up. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Someone's got to organise the supplies," said Arthur.

Merlin rolled his eyes, but he looked more cheerful.

"That's better," said Arthur. "Now go."

Merlin went, everybody went, until Arthur was sitting alone at the great table, his chin on his fist.

Merlin was a good and loyal servant, Arthur knew that. But this pain was more than disappointment at Arthur. It was personal. It was... familiar.

"Oh god," said Arthur.

He jumped up and stared at the door Merlin had walked through.

Merlin loved him. Not only as a king. Not only as a friend. As a man.

Arthur clutched at his hair. He ran over his recent conversations with Merlin, and swallowed. It was true. It was unmistakable.

Oh god.


	11. Chapter 11

The fire started in the kitchen, of course, and spread through the larder into the grain store. By the time it reached the laundry, with its stacks of folded clean linen, it blazed so bright and high that no one could get near it. The hour struck two in the morning but half the castle was awake.

"Water, dammit!" shouted Arthur, arriving in his shirt sleeves, sword in hand. The knights arrived with buckets and pumps. "And ring the warning bell!"

Merlin came running from the other direction. "Is anyone still in there?"

"I don't know." Arthur shielded his eyes from the glare. "We can't get in to find out."

"I can," said Merlin.

Arthur looked at him.

"Spell of imperviousness," said Merlin.

"That's not a thing," said Arthur.

"It is too. And it's what I'm going to do." Merlin rolled up his sleeves.

"No, you're not," said Arthur. He gripped Merlin's arm. "Nobody can get in there, just look at it, man!"

Merlin wiggled free. He gave Arthur a curious look. "You do know I'm a sorcerer?" he said. "A pretty good one, too. I'll be all right. I just need -" He tore off his neckerchief, and dunked it in the nearest bucket of water. Then he wrung it out in two swift twists, and fastened the damp cloth over his face like a bandit. "There. Wish me luck."

"No!"

Arthur made a grab for Merlin, but Merlin was gone - into the burning kitchen, straight for the scullery where the poorest servants slept.

A timber crashed from the kitchen ceiling on to the work bench, blocking entrance to the grain store beyond.

"Everybody out," said Arthur grimly. "We'll try to get water to it from the courtyard."

He was half way up the stairs before he realised that Merlin had rushed into the flames without casting a spell at all.

* * *

"Merlin! You fool! Come out of there!"

No reply.

"Come away, sire. Please."

Arthur ignored the sensible, loyal knights and listened instead for any sound that might indicate Merlin had not already burned to death.

There was none. Merlin had run into a blaze.

Arthur might have put it down to stupidity were it not for Merlin's secret. Not the sorcery, which had come as a surprise to nobody, it turned out, but the other secret. The secret about Arthur. The same secret Arthur had about Merlin. What a godawful mess.

Arthur sighed. "Give me your cloak," he ordered Sir Leon, the chief of the knights.

"But sire-"

"Just do it."

Arthur thrust the cloak into a tub of water and wrung it out just as Merlin had. Then he flung it about himself.

"Sire, I beg you -"

"Never beg," said Arthur. "It lacks conviction." He drew the cloak's hem over his nose and mouth, and plunged into the flames.


	12. Chapter 12

The rafters had collapsed the moment Merlin passed under them into the stone granary, and now formed a barrier between him and escape, a flaming, impenetrable barrier which gave off foul brown smoke, thanks to years of kitchen grease soaked into their timbers.

On the positive side, there was nobody still in the kitchen. Only Merlin, and he not for long. The fumes would swiftly weaken him beyond help, and after that, death would be preferable to survival anyway.

Merlin looked at the ventilation slots - you could not call them windows - high in the granary wall. They were too small for a man. His only chance was to blast out through the wall itself, using magic.

The castle would stand up to it. Camelot was made of tough stuff. It would be repaired. Then things would go back to normal, just Merlin, and Arthur, and a world of falsehood and deception.

Merlin hesitated.

"Merlin!" Arthur, wrapped in a wet cloak, bellowed from beyond the fallen rafters.

"Arthur! Go back, don't stay here, the smoke-"

But Arthur, typically, was ignoring Merlin and attempting to climb through the blazing wreckage.

"There's no way through," cried Merlin, watching in horror as sparks landed in Arthur's hair. "Go back!"

"I'm not leaving you here to die."

"And then you'll be trapped too, I'm weak, I don't know if I can use my magic..." Merlin closed his eyes, just for a moment. Hot smoke poured into his lungs.

Arthur was over the burning rafters in two bounds, and crouching beside Merlin on the floor of the granary. Smoke swirled above their heads. Arthur pressed his hand against Merlin's neck. A heartbeat. Good. He straightened up, looking around for a way out, but there was none.

"I can try to make a gap," Merlin whispered. "Lift me up, point me at the wall..."

"All right." Arthur got his arms under Merlin, heaved him around so Merlin faced the outer wall. The stench from the smoke got in Arthur's eyes and throat. He coughed. There was not much time. "Do it."

Merlin mouthed words. There was no sounds, but he opened his eyes and Arthur saw them flare gold, the sign of magical power. The granary wall cracked, and a single stone block crashed outwards.

Arthur shook Merlin. "That's good. Do that again!"

Merlin's eyes fluttered and closed.

"Merlin. Wake up. That's an order."

Once more Merlin sent a blast of power at the wall, and once more a block fell loose. Arthur sprang up and began forcing his weight against the loose blocks, pitting himself against a hundred years of masonry to make the gap big enough for two men's escape. Yes! It would be a tight squeeze, but it would be possible to wriggle through into the courtyard outside.

He held our his hand to Merlin. "Come on."

But Merlin, sprawled grey-faced and half fainting on a heap of grain sacks, smiled, and shook his head. "It's been a privilege to have... known you."

"Likewise but don't be an arse, just grab my hand."

"No. You're King, you have more important things than me to worry about..."

Arthur kneeled beside Merlin. Merlin's hands were cold. Arthur rubbed them, trying to revive Merlin. "You're wrong," he said. "Nothing's more important than you. Nothing."

Merlin opened his eyes.

Arthur closed his fist around Merlin's hand, and pressed it to his lips. "I mean it," he said. "Now come on." Arthur hauled Merlin to his feet. At that moment the stonework around the gap gave an almighty crack, and exploded in a shock of dust and grit. The outer wall juddered alarmingly.

Arthur did not wait. He grabbed Merlin around the waist and dragged him over the rubble into the courtyard. They stumbled together away from the blaze, to stand in cold clean air, on the cobbles on the far side of the great square.

Merlin leaned back against the cool solid wall of the castle and breathed shallowly.

They were alone. Everyone was within, fighting the fire.

Arthur rubbed his hand over his forehead. "Good grief, I thought I'd lost you."

"Not me. You're stuck with me."

They clutched at each other. The moment lasted a shade too long and Merlin said, "Sorry," at the same moment Arthur did.

"You should have left me," Merlin said then.

"Never," said Arthur. "Would you have left me?"

"No."

They stared at each other. "I knew about the spell," Merlin said. "I knew you were lying, pretending you didn't care for me any more." His voice cracked, and he coughed. He wiped his face with his neckerchief, and cast it aside. "I'll fix it, I will cure you, I swear-""

"Forget the cure," said Arthur. He looked into Merlin's eyes - they were almost the same height, Merlin a shade taller than the King - and smiled. "I _know_." He traced a finger over Merlin's cheek.

Merlin recoiled. "You're, you're drunk, or something."

"I'm sober as a judge. Don't deny it Merlin. You love me. And I can prove it."

"No. This is the spell talking," said Merlin. "You're, you're wishing for something which can never happen..." But he stumbled over the words.

Arthur gripped his arms. "You stole my poem. You kept it."

Merlin's hand went involuntarily to his jacket.

"And you keep it with you all the time," Arthur added. He rolled his eyes in acknowledgement of his own blindness. "Of course you do."

"That doesn't prove anything," Merlin said. "Just that I ... like poetry." He was wriggling under Arthur's gaze.

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Right. Because as a grown man with a proper job you would naturally enjoy romantic verse."

"There's nothing unmanly about poetry," said Merlin.

"Merlin. You collect flowers. You _read books._ You are the person I know most likely to enjoy poetry but that's not my point. You love me. Are you still going to deny it?"

Merlin sighed. "Is there any use? You've obviously made up your mind."

"True. And I am King, so you can't argue with me." He grinned at Merlin. "So you don't have to cure me, it's fine."

Merlin ducked his head. "It's moot anyway. I can't undo the spell. I've tried everything. But I can't find how it's been done. I really thought the Warlock's Tear soup had done it, but..." He grimaced, and closed his eyes.

"You did," said Arthur. "Think about it. You're the most powerful sorcerer in the land. You undid that hack's enchantment at the first time of trying."

"I felt it," Merlin said slowly.

"Yes. The spell went, but I didn't feel any different." Arthur shrugged.

"You wrote the poem after I broke the spell," Merlin said. "Oh."

Merlin leaned towards Arthur. A gesture, touching his forehead to his friend's, or brushing his chin with an affectionate hand, was all he thought. Anything more, however they might talk of love, would be madness. But as Merlin bent down, Arthur closed his eyes and tilted his face to Merlin in the unmistakable expectation of a kiss.

Merlin started, hesitated, then put his lips to Arthur's. There was no resistance. Merlin kissed him again, and now his hand was on the nape of Arthur's neck. He closed his eyes. Arthur's hands were on Merlin's shoulders, then around his waist. Their kiss was only mouths touching, noses bumping, breath slight and wary, but Merlin held Arthur tighter with each heartbeat, and knew Arthur's fierce grip in return.

Merlin drew back and opened his eyes. Arthur was already gazing at him.

There seemed nothing to say. Merlin caressed Arthur's shield hand in both his own. Arthur smiled, pushed Merlin's hair back from his brow.

"It's all right," said Merlin. It was a question.

"Yes," said Arthur, rubbing Merlin's jaw with his thumb. "It's all right."

Then he sighed, and rolled his eyes. "Well don't cry _now_ ," said Arthur.

THE END


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